Somebody asked me today what it was like being married. Of course in some ways it’s a terribly silly question — but on the other hand, I was sitting at lunch with 8 people and I was one of only two with the necessary qualifications to answer, so perhaps it really was research. I said — facetiously — “Well, it’s almost exactly the same as not being married, except now I’m happy all the time.”

Only (and you have license to throw squashy tomatoes at me now) — see — it’s sort of the truth. Things are almost exactly the same. Nothing in the shape of our daily lives has changed, really. We haven’t moved into a big house. We don’t plan on populating our apartment with baby feet any time soon (even though we miss Asher like the dickens). I still get cranky when I’m hungry and Ross still has a pile of clothes next to his side of the bed. We didn’t become dues-paying members of some sort of married couple club. Basically, things are just like they were five days ago.

But here are the things that are different, at least for now:

The Ring. I take it off at night, so I have to remember to put it on in the morning. Today I forgot and we got all the way to the train station before Ross looked at my hand and I realized I wasn’t wearing it. I made him drive back so I could get it. I fiddle with it after I wash my hands and I clink it against the pole when I’m riding the T. I am convinced that absolutely everyone can tell it is brand new and that it must be the first thing they notice about me, even though I never notice other people’s wedding rings. It feels cool and slightly sharp sometimes when I curl my fingers, but mostly it’s comfortable. It fits me beautifully, which is a relief since we ordered the rings online and they came two days before the wedding. I smile when I look at it, partly because it makes me think of Ross and partly because it’s just kind of funny that it’s there.

The Word. Husband. I haven’t actually used it in conversation yet, but I typed it the other day just to see what it would look like, on a message I posted to the company bulletin board. It was very weird. Not weird bad, just weird. Mostly because it doesn’t seem like Ross could possibly be one of those things — I mean, he’s Ross. He’s not a husband. Don’t even get me started on the word wife. Give me a few years.

The “Yay!” factor. In case you didn’t make it to the wedding, I should tell you that a couple of hours before the ceremony I started to feel a major headache coming on — probably because I’d been sick all week and hadn’t really eaten much that day. Anyway, adrenaline and a couple of Aleve flew me through the proceedings, but not long after the deed was done the headache turned into a massive vice-grip monster who brought his friends nausea and trembly limbs along. I felt pretty awful. Awful enough to leave before my friends did, which all but broke my heart, and to cancel our plans for inviting people to hang out at the apartment with music and wine afterwards. I’m still really sad about that. But I just felt like death warmed over, and I was utterly miserable by the time I limped into bed.

But then, at about 5am, I woke up to pee. My headache was gone, and it was clear that I wasn’t going to perish. I felt a million times better. And when I got back into bed, I thought, “Hey! I’m not going to die, and I’m still married to Ross!” So I squiggled around in bed a bit until he woke up, and I looked at him, and he looked at me. I smiled at him. He smiled at me.

Me: Yayyyyyyyyyyyy!
Ross: Yayyyyyyyyyyyy!
Me: Yayyyyyyyyyyyy!
Ross: Yayyyyyyyyyyyy!

What I mean is, when we think about the fact that we got married, it makes us smile. A lot. And sometimes laugh. And usually kiss. And that, my dears, is what it is like to have been married for five days. Ask me again in ten years.